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A Little Crazy With Your Cargo
'Blackrock Shipping - ' :The crews of Blackrock Shipping are, insofar as any possibly could be, the black sheep - or perhaps, black goats - of Halaghi dirigibling outfits. Where the Aftercrashers focus on saving lives and materials, and preventing future accidents, and the Explorineers are all about discovery, the Halaghi of Blackrock Shipping live by the motto 'work hard, play hard'. Their legitimate business, such as it is, is the transportation of goods from city to city by dirigible. Rumors have abounded for years that the Halaghi of Blackrock - while solid gold in the matter of keeping to their contracts - have been known to bend, ignore, or completely break the laws of responsible piloting in order to do so. And when they're not in the air, the adrenaline-addicted Halaghi of Blackrock are known as a gleefully ruthless pockknockery team, with more than a few championship trophies lining the walls of this office. :The Blackrock Shipping main office is a rather pokey affair, with just enough waylighters that the area is illuminated, and a few rendered chairs in varying states of repair around for crews to sit in during meetings. Pride of place is given to the shelves of pockknockery trophies that line the walls, and schematics for Blackrock dirigibles (with certain particular areas blacked out to avoid losing trade secrets) share space with them as well as they are able. :The doorway in one wall leads out to the Dirigibling Caverns, where most of the Halaghi businesses that center on the great flying machines are located. ---- The office cavern of Blackrock Shipping is apparently someplace its workers only come back to to fill out paperwork, or catch up on the news between flights or games. Cos right now the place is empty, save for an older, wild-haired and battered Halaghi, whose tongue is actually sticking out of his mouth while he tries to fill in a report. The Halaghi who walks in the doorway is considerably older, and appears rather senile. He confirms this suspicion by croacking loudly, "This ain't the Wrongstoppers Orifice!" Hal'iglop scratches his bald crown, and tugs at a few loose strands of white hair growing from the side of his head. "Hey, you, sonny! Say, you look big n' strong! Help me carry somestuff." Hal'gwynt looks up with a scowl. "Bite a goat, ye buggerin' idjit," he growls. "I got work te do." "Didn't ya hear me?" growls Hal'iglop. He walks toward Hal'gwynt, right up in front of him, and moves to knock on his head with his knuckles. "Anyone home? I need help carryin' stuff!" Hal'gwynt puts his pencil down, with the exaggerated care of someone who's probably been Informed what you Don't Do with Company Pencils. And then, as Hal'iglop tries knocking on his skull - swings his fist for the other's chest. "This's BLACKROCK SHIPPIN', ye goatbuggin' son of a head-knocked tarm!" As Hal'iglop moves to knock on Hal'gwynt's cranium, the younger Halaghi swings at him! The older man simply is not quick enough, and is clobbered rather stiffly on the side of his arm. He falls backwards in surprise with a loud, "Oof!" Sprawling on the ground, several tools go scattering from his possession. The wild-haired wiry brick that is Hal'gwynt is practically bristling with rage, fists clenched as he stalks over to the older Halaghi. "Goat-buggin' fool," he growls in a voice far deeper than one so short should be able to manage. "Ye lay a finger on me agin' an' I'll bustify yer goat-buggin' jaw in six places an' THEN drop yer goatbuggin' ass in front o' the Wrongstoppers office." Hal'ligg walks into the shipping offices with a grin, humming to himself... before he stops, looking around slowly. "Oh!" he says. "This isn't the Aftercrashery." Then he looks down at Hal'iglop. "Oh... What happened here? Did you busticate yourself?" "Watch out!" cries Hal'iglop. "This one's a loony! He tried to bustify my head!" The older Halaghi scrambles to his feet, and moves to scurry away from Hal'gwynt. His tools are forgotten for the moment. "Just you wait, you son of a goat whore!" swears the old man. "I'll show ya!" At this point, he is partially hiding behind Hal'ligg. Hal'gwynt's dark eyes are visibly filled with a fearless rage, but as the patchupper speaks up - and Hal'iglop retreats - he doesn't attack again. "This one o' yer head-busticated jobs?" he asks Hal'ligg in a growl. "Old chasm-taken fool tried knockin' on me skull an' givin' me orders. In my own office!" Hal'ligg is standing there, looking confused. "Oh, he's head-busticated right," he says. "He's the one who was running through the tunnels screaming rape." Striding in from the outer catwalk is the rather clunky, broad Halaghi form of Wrongstopper Hal'gus, dressed in all his glorious attire, billed hat and carrying a backpacker steamtonk on his back. He balances his boomstick against his shoulder, carrying it militantly as he whistles out - very poorly - some sort of normally inspiring tune that has been hopelessly ruined. As he enters the proper, he stares blankly at the commotion. "I'm gonna call them Wrongstoppers on ya, I will!" shouts the old Halaghi at Hal'gwynt. His voice takes a shrill note. "Won't take no orders; no work. Attack an old Facture like'en me! Oh, you'll get yer payback!" Hal'iglop waves a gnarled finger at the larger, stronger Dirigible Pilot. "Feed ya to the Cats, I will!" Hal'iglop is hiding behind Hal'ligg. Hal'gwynt is in front of his desk fuming mad. Hal'gwynt grins a grin that would suit a Prince of Hell who's just been offered a nicely bound up virgin angel as a playtoy. "Hal'gus," he rumbles in that voice too deep for his undersized self. "Yer timin's gotten better." Hal'ligg turns to look at Hal'gus, then down at the old fart using him as a shield, then to Hal'gwynt. "I have no idea what's going on here," he says. "But if anyone needs to be patched up after this..." "That's /Oforicer/ Hal'gus t'you, y'goatbuggin' mixbowl," scolds Hal'gus as Hal'gwynt speaks, his eyes narrowing as he peers about at the situation. He makes his toward the scene, waving a hand about rapidly as a sort of 'disperse' signal. "All of you, to yer corners. Now what, exactly, is goin' on here?" "That son of a whore, goat turd fer brains, brawny oaf did try ta bustificate my jaw and hit me arm!" accuses Hal'iglop, ruefully pointing at Hal'gwynt. "Tried to steal me tools, too!" And the old Halaghi, crazy-eyed, points to the scattered tools as if they were proof. Hal'gwynt rolls his eyes and stalks back to his desk. "I'm tryin' te recorderate th' day's shippin' totals," he growls in Gus' general direction, "an' in comes this chasm-brained old fool tellin' me I gotta move boxes for 'im right now. Well *right now* I gotta finish th' recorderatin', so I tell 'im t'get lost, an' 'e comes right up in my beard an' knocks on my head! O'course I punched 'im, how else d'ye get a guy t'take 'is goat-buggin knuckles off ya?" For once /not/ part of the crazy, Hal'ligg decides to just slip to the side. "Not so fast there, you," interrupts Hal'gus as Ligg slips off to the side, peering at him curiously. "And what'd you see? And did he...jus', a lil' /knock/ on the head, or did he hit'em hard? Look at'em," notes Gus, pointing over toward Hal'iglop. "He's rust. What's he gonna do t'anyone?" "Make him go kablamo, that's what!" snorts the old Halaghi, glaring at Hal'gwynt. "Well, don't just stand there, me boy!" Iglop says to Gus. "Go punchify and busticate him up! Serves him good, damn whipper-snapper!" The frail geyser is in a sour, bitter mood. Hal'gwynt snorts, and - as the Wrongstopper isn't addressing him just now - picks up his pencil and with a disgruntled 'wish I didn't have to do these' hrrrumph, goes back to his paperwork. After a moment, the man's tongue sticks out a bit. These word things are hard. Hal'ligg holds up his hands. "I just arrived before you," he says. "I was looking for the Aftercrashery and came to the wrong spot." A hand reaches up to scratch Hal'gus's head, peering between Hal'gwynt and Hal'iglop. "Well, Gwynt, hittin' some poor ol' goat jus' for tinkin' you on the noggincap is goatbuggery. But you shouldn't go proddin' no-one, either," pauses Hal'gus, pointing over at Hal'iglop, before rubbing his eyes with a gloved hand. "Now'n, which o' you three work 'ere and who's in charge o' what?" "Ain't ya gonna bustify him?" Hal'iglop asks, peering at Gus. "What sort of Orificer are ya, huh? That rotten thief tried ta steal me tools!" he accuses. And, waddling toward the pair of strewn instruments, he hefts them up and shakes them in his bony hands at the Wrongstopper. "I think he's after me invention, too! Like that one!" adds the old man, now turning his scowling eyes at Hal'ligg. "Tried ta rape me the other day, he did! I remember! Abducted me to his labowhatchyamacallit to try and unscrew me noggincap and get me secret idears!" Hal'gwynt rumbles like distant thunder. "I work here," he growls, putting down that pencil again. "I owns this shippin' firm. We do dirigible transportin' 'tween th' cities. Cargo only." He points at Hal'ligg. "That'n's a patchupper. Dun' work for me." The finger points to Hal'iglop. "Never saw 'im 'afore t'day when he started knockin on my skull." "'E....what?" blinks Hal'gus, staring toward Hal'iglop before shaking his head. "Aye yeah, I 'eard o' this. But if 'e owns the place, I ain't blastin' no-one." He peers over at Hal'gwynt. "Consider this a warnin' I hear one more thing 'bout you hittin' /anybody/, even in 'ere, you're spendin' a night in the cagery. You two, tho', are comin' with me," notes Hal'gus, nodding to both Hal'iglop and Hal'ligg. "Diff'rent matters. Back to the Oforices, git." He gestures toward the exit with his boomstick. Hal'ligg blinks at Hal'gus. "Okay," he says uncertainly, before starting to walk. The crotchety old Halaghi skulks out of the office, but gives Hal'gwynt a lewd gesture with his right arm and fist before walking out the door! Category:Halagh Logs